Against the Universe

18 • maddie

A/N: I'm not sure if the notifications for chapter 17 came through due to me unpublishing and republishing it, so make sure to read that one first if you haven't already xx

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The night before New Years Eve, I sleep terribly.

I wake up at 7am with an awful tension in my neck, like I've been suffocated by invisible hands. My eyes and throat feel dry, too dry.

I fumble for the box of Prozac on my bedside table. When it was first prescribed to me for my anxiety, I never thought I'd be on it for this long. Now I'm on double the dosage I started on. I take two pills and wash it down with a big gulp of room temperature water.

Caitlynn is having a small gathering tonight. More of her and Ciaran's friends are flying in from Belfast to ring in the new year. She checked with me a billion times to ask if it was okay. She doesn't seem to understand that it's not parties that trigger me. I love parties. I love people. It's sudden loud noises that make me skittish. Like ambulances and fireworks.

I grab my axolotl Squishmallow and cradle it in my arms, squeezing it so tight I expect it to pop any moment, becoming a deflated sack of fabric. It doesn't. After muttering an apology (yes, I'm an 18-year-old who still talks to her stuffed animals) I pull it away from me and stare at it, hoping to find some comfort in its soulless black eyes and stitched-on smile.

When I don't, I collapse back into my mattress and heave. I know I should do something to keep my mind occupied. Play video games. Practice the harp. Exercise. But I can't. My body is limp and lethargic, and I'm in that mood where all I can do is think.

Should I make New Years Resolutions? It's not like I'll ever stick to them, but it's still nice to have them. Maybe it'll make going into another year less scary if I have some sort of outline. Something to lean on, like my gait training bars.

I pick up my journal and biro and flip to a new page, making an effort to not look at my never send letters. 5 resolutions sounds like a good amount. Not too many.

Actually, 5 seems a bit intimidating. Maybe just 3. Yeah, 3.

  1. Eat healthier.

This one is easy to think of. Probably because it's the generic one I always pick and never follow through with. Perhaps this time I will.

I subconsciously drum my pen against the paper as I rummage my brain for another idea. Nothing comes to mind. I have to dig deeper.

I tap my pen faster until I'm striking the sheet in semidemisemiquavers, then I switch hands so I can fidget with the ring on my finger while I write. Except I haven't written anything. All I've done is dot the page with black ink thanks to all my nervous tapping.

Restless and defeated, I plop my journal back down and reach for my phone. I've been impulsively checking it since yesterday, when I asked Harper if she wanted to hang out on New Years Eve. She hasn't read my message, but she was last seen an hour ago.

At this point I've convinced myself that I'm just not an important part of her life anymore. One day, I'll be able to accept that. But for now, it really fricking hurts. I've had breakups that were less painful.

My phone vibrates in my hand, and stupidly, I get this little flutter of hope in my chest. It's not Harper though.

Grover:
Oh my God.
That's exactly how it felt.